


The Day the Avengers Broke SHIELD (and Nick Fury)

by livingtheobsessedlife



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Crack Fic, Gen, It's just weird, can you say chaos?, if you want to call it that, the avengers are crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingtheobsessedlife/pseuds/livingtheobsessedlife
Summary: In which Tony decides to run for president, Clint can’t stop eating candy, Natasha and Steve won’t let anybody go to the bathroom, Bruce has sworn off all humans in favor of squirrels, and Fury might as well resign from his post and take up a career as a window washer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most ridiculous fic that I have ever written, I am not gonna lie and I honestly have no idea where it came from. I started writing it as a silly little thing after a hard day that really needed some silliness, and it just kinda happened... but I like how it turned out :)

I. TONY

The Avengers were _bored_. It had been months since they had had a real job with aliens or robots or even evil HYDRA minions, and really they were getting to the end of their rope. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Tony announces thoughtfully to a gaggle of junior agents, “I should run for president.” 

And for a five word phrase, it truly causes all the shit to hit all the fans. _All of them._ At once. 

Alarms go off and footsteps slap against steel floors as agents sprint through hallways, panting in fear, congregating in a massive huddle of intimidation around the billionaire-turned-superhero. 

The junior agents huddled around Tony looked up at him like deer in headlights, young and doelike and absolutely fucking hilarious. But then Tony himself is looking a little sheepish when suddenly the footsteps are getting louder and louder and all stopping right in front of him in a garrish mob. 

Maria Hill easily pushes into the little semi-circle that surrounded Tony Stark. There had to be at least a hundred agents surrounding him. 

“ _Of course I get stuck with Stark_ ,” Hill murmurs under her breath, exasperated and tired, before turning a dangerous glare onto Tony, “You’re not running for President of the United States, Stark.” She puts simply, and he has to try really, really hard to not look confused.

“How did you kn-” He starts, but then he stops, and grimaces instinctively, “Wait, why can’t I run for president? I would make a _fantastic_ president!”

“No. No, you most definitely would not.” Hill responds and she literally looks like she is contemplating quitting. It has to be better than getting stuck on Stark-babysitting/talking-off-the-ledge-of-crazy-town duty, “There is no way you are going to run for president.”

“You can’t stop me.” Tony says, and he no longer cares that he had originally said it merely as a way to impress the doe-eyed newbies because now Maria Hill has challenged him and soon enough he’s going to become so determined that he wins over the hearts of the country and gets elected. The prideful determination is a sweet thought, but Maria only shivers at the thought of Tony once he were to actually get in the Oval Office. _Chaos_. 

“Tony,” She takes a warning step forward, placing her hands sturdily on Stark’s shoulders, “We have emergency systems put into place in case you were to ever use the words ‘I’ and ‘run’ and ‘president’ in the same sentence! That's what this is! It would be an absolute disaster!”

Tony had no idea why he worked for people with so little faith in him. He crossed his arms indignantly, “Fine! You don’t believe that I would make an _amazing_ president? You just watch!” Everybody stared as Stark pulled out his phone (the one he had designed himself, especially for himself) and began rapidly dialing.

The sound of a yawn echoing from a different time zone reverberated through the phone, but before Pepper could say anything about privacy or boundaries or free space, Tony rudely interrupted her, “PEPPER, TELL THESE HOODLUMS THAT I WOULD MAKE A FANTASTIC PRESIDENT!”

Pepper pauses in hesitation, “Oh, God, Tony. That's an awful idea! Please don't do that! You'd be assassinated after the first week!”

“I don’t understand!” Tony practically growled, frustrated, “What the hell could I do that is so bad?”

“Well, for starters, our analysts discovered you would turn this country into a technology-dependent dystopia run by an army of talking toasters and soon enough, we’d have a Stark supervillain on our hands.”

It seemed the only part Tony heard from all of her little speech was ‘army of talking toasters’ and he was already planning how to program toasters to march in form in his head. Maria was not getting any less worried. 

 

II. CLINT 

It was one of those days that was just perfectly sunny enough to encourage Clint’s never ending appetite for all food considered junk. The sniper snuck off in search a combination of the clammiest clam chowder he could find and a nice bowl of Lucky Charms cereal. Also, he could probably go for some good lemonade, too. Just another Tuesday.

When Clint got back, armed with a bag, a box, and a disposable cup, however, he couldn’t get back in. The doors wouldn’t open, and he was lead to the natural conclusion that HQ had been put on lockdown. 

“Dammit, Stark, I blame you,” Clint frowned as he wandered absently away from the gigantic New York base, talking to himself, “I bet he said something about becoming president or eating a croissant or something,” (Clint found out later that it had been the president one but then he just really wanted a croissant).

Clint wandered around aimlessly for awhile, unsure of what to do with the unfamiliar concept of having actual time to do actual things that weren’t fighting aliens or protecting diplomats or sniping at evil-doers. He turned the corner onto another block, walked a couple of yards, then stopped dead in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers and mouth gaping open. 

Before him stood a sturdy, old school candy shoppe (with the double p and everything, it was adorable). _Absolute perfection_. 

From the moment that he stepped inside, Clint was engulfed with that warm tingling feeling of sugar, sugar, and more sugar, a certain natural sweetness in the air. 

He was a goner. An absolute goner.

Within minutes, Clint was blindly reaching for candy, shoving as much as physically possible into the little baggies offered by the store. When he reached the counter, he was smiling like a hysterical idiot, handing over more than enough money to pay for the candy and hightailing it out of there with candy already stuffing his mouth. 

Clint Barton, expert SHIELD agent and trained assassin, officially could not stop eating candy. To reiterate, he was a _goner_. 

It didn’t take long for the sugar high to set in, and before he even realized it, 50% of the candy was gone and he was crouched over on the top of a skyscraper two blocks over from SHIELD headquarters, bow hanging comfortably off his fingertips. 

Coulson gets a call a little after that and Clint sounds a little manic over the line, which is the first hint that something is _extremely wrong_. Then, Clint starts talking complete nonsense, bringing up topics of the most completely random caliber (okay, so that one isn't that weird, Clint has the most peculiar conversation skills of anybody he's ever met, but that’s beside the point). There’s wind in the background and Coulson is pretty sure that no human being has ever spoken as quickly as Clint is. 

Coulson hears a sudden _whiz_ sound from Clint’s end, which is followed in quick succession by the muffled sound of glass breaking the floor above him, approximately where the shooting range would be, then some terrified screams with impressed, little whimpers choked out follow. 

It takes a moment, but Coulson realizes that Clint is fucking shooting through the windows of the shooting range from the top of some unforeseeable skyscraper who know’s how far away, and since it’s Clint, he’s most likely making the shot. Oh, and also, this dude has _got_ to be on an absolute sugar high. That’s the part that freaks Coulson out the most because oh, God, the sugar!

Without hesitation, the senior agent grabs at his walkee talkee and practically screams, “Operation Sweets is undergo! Attention all personnel! Barton has found the sweets! I repeat, Barton has found the sweets!”

Coulson, as well as what very well may be described as a small army of shield agents, desperately search the surrounding buildings within a ten block radius for Clint. When they find him, Coulson is immediately alerted and he gets to him as _fast_ as he possibly can (who knows the trouble that Clint could get in on a daily basis, let alone when he's hyper as hell from a sugar high). When Coulson gets to Clint, the sniper is laughing maniacally with his bow clutched to his chest and his knees brought towards his chin. His face is covered in the powdery remnants of sugar and a solid ring around his lips is stained a myriad of blue, green, and red. 

“Dammit, Clint!” Coulson sighs, taking in the sight of an Avenger for Pete’s sake, “What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Clint just laughs in response, rolling over an empty bag of what used to contain candy. He’s completely oblivious to the _mob_ of agents dispatched to surround him in this odd state of his. 

Clint beams at him, giggling with the full force of his belly and his lungs and raging sugar high combined, “Did you know there's a candy shoppe just down the street from HQ”

Coulson rubs a hand over his face, “I do not get paid _nearly_ enough for this shit.”

 

III. STEVE & NATASHA

Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov spent much more times on the upper floors of SHIELD headquarters than the average agents. Whether it was for paperwork, or waiting for meetings with Fury, or liasoning for the Avengers, or even, in Natasha’s case, attempting to hone her voyeurism skills by stealing things from Fury’s supposedly impenetrable office (she succeeded eight out of ten times), the pair of them spent a lot of time on the executive floors. 

They wandered aimlessly about the floors for awhile, learning all the nooks and crannies of the place, until then they got bored of _that_ , and moved onto more difficult horizons. Somehow, they came across the genius idea of MegaBathroom, a public bathroom so deluxe that it would require a password to enter. 

They miraculously managed to redecorate every single bathroom on the floor, deftly organizing so that construction went completely unnoticed. 

By the end of the month, they had one huge bathroom, connected by thinly robust hallways, with only one executive entrance and no secondary exits. MegaBathroom was complete. Their little project did not face any opposition at all (everybody was too afraid of the pair of them once they actually worked together, with their smirks and glares and _impossible_ biceps) until four days after its official completion. 

Fury really had to go. Like, _really_ , really had to _go_. But the problem was that the two Avengers who had apparently redecorated every single one of the bathrooms on the floor, said that he apparently he _‘wasn’t on the list’_. 

“What do you mean I’m not on the list? I’m literally the Director of SHIELD! These are basically my bathrooms!”

Natasha shrugged in a way that made Fury’s blood boil, “Sorry, sir,” She said as if she was laughing at him (Natasha Romanoff did not _laugh_ , but that little shrug of hers was pretty darn close), “But you need the password to enter MegaBathroom, or to be on the list.”

“This is _stupid_.” Fury growled, more than obviously getting incredibly annoyed, “I’m going in.” 

Fury shoved Natasha to the side (a beginner’s mistake) and began to barge into the bathroom only to come face to face (or rather face to incredibly muscular chest) with Captain America himself.

“I hate this system. It’s stupid.” Fury said again, moving to go and relieve himself. 

Steve frowned, “I think it’s a great system!”

“Not you, too!”

And that only made Cap angry. Without so much as flexing a muscle, he had pushed Fury out of the way. Big Mistake. 

“Hey!” Fury shrieked, “Let me relieve myself in my own bathroom!”

Cap was too busy shoving him out of any and all attempts.

“Sir, if you continue to respond to our suggestions like this, we’re going to have to use… _different_ means.”

Now, Fury was, well… furious. 

“Did you really just threaten me, agent? Really?” He was flabbergasted, but the way his face turned about five different shades of red, each darker than the last, did nothing to remedy the lack of weight behind his threat. 

Neither Avenger did a damn thing. They both just stood outside the bathroom door, staring at their director blankly. 

Fury stepped to the side, absolutely fuming with rage, and he hissed something into his walkee talkee, SHIELD issue and connected to every single agent on the base. Within moments, the superheroes were surrounded, guns pointed directly at the pair of them.

The Director attempted a smirk, satisfied in the rallying of agents that willingly raced to his beck and call, “How’s that for a threat?”

Natasha was practically rolling her eyes at him. She was pretty sure that, I'd need be, she and Cap could easily take these guys, despite their huge numbers, “I’m sorry, sir but you need the password to enter.”

Fury was _shaking_ at this point, rage bubbling up inside of him like a tense volcano.

 

IV. BRUCE

The second that Dr. Bruce Banner stepped onto base, he knew that it would be no normal day. Almost as if triggered by the Hulk himself, the very second that Banner entered the building, alarms went off around him, lights flashed manically, and people were racing all about. Okay, probably not exactly the greatest sign, he had to admit. 

Bruce had originally intended to get genuine work done, but the combination of screeching alarms and pattering feet forced an uncomfortable situation for the prospects of research (and the Big Guy is obviously not a fan either, at all). Bruce decides that it’s best if he heads to the cafeteria early instead. 

All they had available at the time was green jello. Of course (it wasn't even one of the _good_ flavors, like cherry or orange, no it had to be _green_ ). He would have to persevere. 

The scientist wandered outside, double-fisting green jello cups as he walks. He walks until he finds a small courtyard, nothing but a patch of grass, a bench, and a tree that looks upward toward the skies and the glass ceilings. 

Bruce sits for awhile, contemplating life in meditation of the chaotic day laid out for him, when a little brown head bobbed curiously toward him. 

The soft little man that he was, Bruce smiled at the courageous little squirrel that approached him with curiosity in its bright eyes, “Hey, Little buddy,” He said, “You hungry?” Bruce spread a small chunk of jello onto the concrete for his new friend to munch on. 

Tiptoe (Bruce will be the first to admit it, he is the _worst_ at naming tiny animal friends, sue 'im!) immediately moved to snack on the offering, cute and nibbly. 

Bruce smiled as he gave his squirrel friend more green mush, “We’ve bonded now, haven't we?”

The squirrel looked up happily, as if in response, then went back to its jello. 

“I like you. I feel so calm around you, you're so cute and harmless.” Bruce mused, “I could ju-”

But just then the scientist was cut off, the Hulk rumbling from within like a forceful wave slamming against a young coast. 

A shatter reverberated through Bruce’s little courtyard, a momentous boom of diminishing noise that was accompanied only by a freakishly familiar bellow. 

When Bruce looked up, a rather furious looking Nick Fury was falling from the sky, coming to an abrupt stop as he slammed into the space beside Bruce’s little tree. Scrambling to his feet, Bruce moved to examine his (technically) boss. 

“Sir? Sir?” Bruce asked, poking alternatively between each of his boss’s cheeks. 

Looking down, Bruce noticed an odd ‘Vote For Stark!’ sticker that after waking up even Fury himself could never quite tell how it had gotten into his jacket. A broken suction cup arrow was stuck to Fury’s shoulder, sticking out at a peculiar angle. Bruce was pretty sure he recognized a faint coating of sugar coating the wood of the arrow. 

Satisfied that his boss wasn't completely dead or stuck on a low level floor with a broken leg, Bruce followed the trajectory of where his boss had fallen from. He had to squint a little, but all the way up, Bruce could just barely make out the sheepish forms of Captain America and the Black Widow leaning out of a Nick Fury size hole, looking down nervously. Those windows were going to be _hell_ to fix. Bruce was already dreading Fury's reaction to the shards and the prospect of having more problems.

When Bruce looked back down, his squirrel friend was sitting on Fury’s chest, sniffing curiously at his eye patch while the man was unconscious. 

There wasn't much Bruce could do: just wait for Fury to wake, make sure he wasn't severely injured, take deep breaths, and just...stick with squirrels for awhile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus: In which Thor accidentally adopts a parrot that speaks only in Midgardian swears

When Thor walked around, it was natural for people (yes, even, if not _especially_ , highly-trained-super-spy people) to stare at him. The cursing parrot perched on his shoulder only served to make the imputable staring exponentially worse, but Thor barely even seemed to notice. 

The Avengers themselves didn't usually stare, they were used to the intimidating way Thor’s bulk of muscle towered above everyone. But this time, they froze. 

“What is it that causes you to stare at me, my fellow warriors?” Thor boomed (even his best inside voice was absolutely terrifying). 

Tony cocked his head inquisitively in that smug, Stark-like way made that him look like he was about to burst into laughter, “What’s with the bird, blondie?”

Thor smile absolutely exploded, “This is Darcy! My new companion! I named her after my beloved Jane’s assistant. She seems to say many of the same words as my friend.”

As if on cue, the bird chirped loudly then squawked out an embarrassing string of expletives that made Steve blush. Thor was completely oblivious to the severity of the Midgardian words spewing out of his pet’s beak. 

Clint shuddered from across the table where he had slouched in the wake of his sugar crash, “That sounds like Darcy, all right. She definitely had made New Mexico...interesting.”

Thor was smiling, about to question how well Clint knew his friend, when Fury hobbled into the room (or at least it was hobbling for Nick Fury standards, by normal people standards it was a slow walk). A bandage was stretched around Fury’s shoulder and the Avengers collectively frowned at the way he glared at them. 

“Thor, could you please take a seat?” Fury growled, “We need to have a _strict_ discussion about the things that occurred today, and as part of the Avengers you need to be a part of this.”

Thor quietly moved to sit down as a disturbed and everybody turned to look toward Fury. He was _pissed_.

“Does somebody want to tell me what the _hell_ happened today? Because I would love to know how I ended up bruised and bandaged and with enough paperwork to take an entire year thanks to a certain group of superheroes.” Fury’s glare could literally kill a man. 

An ashamed silence blanketed the Avengers, until Steve spoke up, “I’m sorry, sir.” He said

“You better be! To make sure that you are, I’m making _all of you _go through real SHIELD training this month, even the ones who have done it before," Clint groaned loudly and Stark scrunched his face in distress, but Fury had more to say, "And then you will be doing grunt work for the month after that. Because _apparently_ none of you know how things work around here!” Yep, _definitely pissed_ , “Now, does anybody have any _objections_ to that, hmm?” Fury barked definitively, a challenge that he knew for a fact he would win. __

__A disturbing silence reigned, the Avengers suspended in impending agony, but just then Darcy (the parrot) decided to let loose another obscure series of shocking profanities._ _

__As if as a whole, the Avengers slowly turned toward Fury in terror._ _

__His face was at least ten shades darker, darker than it had been when Steve had refused him the bathroom, darker than when he had woken up in Medical with the Avengers sheepishly looking down around him, darker even than when he discovered a minor alien attack had occurred while the Avengers had been causing havoc at HQ and no SHIELD agents could be dispatched because they were all spent hampering on the Avengers’ chaos._ _

__This would _not_ be good._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, that's that! I hope you guys enjoyed this weirdness! Please, comment/kudos, etc :)


End file.
